Angel of my Freedom (Short-Story Rough Draft) Morello tried to speak to Angel of Freedom, however, he constituted that uncontrollable
eruption of tension between happiness, and simplicity leads to exaggeration of complex situations. Morello twitched as his memory drew a blank. Sitting motionless, but breathing with a sign of relief, his mind raced, as a crack fiend would, around the neighborhood at night to get its next fix. “I do not understand these complicated meditation poses.” He spoke aloud to himself; hoping his imaginary girlfriend was listening to his useless gabber. Morellos eyes opened with a sigh of relief. He was glad he was able to snap out of his uncomfortable situation. He sat there, gazing towards the computer desk. “Did I put my prayers beads onto the table?” Hoping someone would respond. “I guess I’m here alone.” Morello said aloud. Morello gathered his strength and walked towards his computer desk. Standing there, he could not remember why he got up in the first place. “Shit, what am I looking for? Morello said with a bit of confusion. “Oh, yea! I have to find the prayer beads!” he said while grinding his teeth together because of his nervousness, as he did not know if he was, awake or in meditation state. It was already 3 AM the hour of darkness, but it seemed that Morello loved battling the dark side. It seemed to give him some kind of high. A perfect combination of thrills and mystery is all in a story, however, to Morello meeting darkness provides satisfaction of his soul. “Where the hell did I put my prayer beads? I cannot find them anywhere.” Morello shouted with aggression. As he continued searching for his precious jewel, it started to get colder and Morello could see his breath. “What the F?” Shocked and confused, Morello ran towards his bed. Morello grabs his blanket off the bed, wraps his face, and sits down quickly. “Oh, what the F?” he blurts again without much control.
Morello’s loud voice travels around his room as a beat of a drum would around a Native Americans fire celebration. “Get the hell out of here; whatever you are!” He shouts gripping the blanket tightly. “Where the hell is my damn Prayer Beads.” He thinks while being flabbergasted. Was the coldness coming from Morellos heart, or is there something visiting Morello at 3AM in the morning. It is the darkest hour where mystery and thrill meet. On the other hand, so they say…
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